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All Welcome run, run, run away
Posted 11-12-2017, 01:40 PM | This post was last modified: 11-12-2017, 04:35 PM by Aderchop
Enigma Wolf
Male, 4.00
39 in, 90 lbs
82 ep
© Sphinx
Can't take it.

The day blurs with night and night blurs with day, and everything intertwines cosmic fingers with everything else and it all shouts at him quietly. He runs beneath mottled purple sky. Night will be done soon, but he doesn't know.

It's sickness. He knew this at some point; knew it when he kept awakening to the taste of death on his tongue, and the stinging of hell in his eyes. His nails have grown, black and jagged, and each night when he could not sleep he clawed at his aching stomach with them and moaned miserably.
His eyes are wider. They burn and glow with reptilian fire in the dark, and he sees everything.

I will know all of this stupid, stupid world. I will creep behind its closed eyelids and climb in and out of each of its pores, tasting its blood. Sweet, salty, sour...

Hurling himself forward, he tumbles head over heels, shoulder barging into the floor first and then his legs kicking in the air as he wheels over. He sprawls out in the gold of this place, a broken grey creature in a field of shimmering yellow crop. Organs kick against his skeleton, beating him up from the inside out, little cold heart thumping, pallid skin crawling beneath coarse thin fur. Saliva, cold and streaming, pools in his mouth, and when he allows his jaws to fall ajar it spills out and mingles with the fibres of the earth around him. All is dry and cold.

Once mother told him of children who lived in the rows of gold, children who killed and ate red flesh, tugging you apart and gnawing on what remained.
Let them come, he thinks.
His body trembles. He feels nothing. Voices won't stop shouting. Once, he believes for a moment that he is somebody else, and memories come to him in a flash, and he knows new loves, new hates, new feelings and wants.
Then in an instant they are gone, and he is just the snake again, the one coiled round the tree in Eden, waiting for an innocent ear to whisper into.
Nothing makes sense. Fever is strong in him.

He remembers a name, and remembers that purple thing he wears round his neck. Something vague, he remembers not caring much for whatever it was.
To sleep this off would be wise; someone sensible inside him remarks quietly that it'll all go away then and he'll awaken the same man he had been a week or two ago. It'll all be fine.
”Kurai!” he hears himself shout unto the cold night, only half of him knowing what it was he was saying. ”Show yourself! I mean to ask of you a thing or two about the mind and its functions.”
Aderchop lays, a raggedy shape on his side in a vast field, calling half in a haze for a god to appear above him and have a conversation with him while he revels in a feverish madness.
The mind is rather funny.

”speech” thought
summary: aderchop, being infected with a strange disease, now seems to reach the highest point of strange behaviours due to this disease that he has yet experienced. he runs out into the plateau, throws himself to the ground, drools for a bit, drifts in and out of consciousness and insane trains of thought, then calls for kurai so as to have a conversation with him
notes: ALL WELCOME if ya think you wanna experience temporarily batshit ader <33
tags: Divine Intervention
table credit to dee from doutaini

Ever eating, never cloying,
All-devouring, all-destroying,
Never finding full repast,
Until I eat the world at last.

[ Reply ]

Posted 11-12-2017, 11:22 PM | This post was last modified: 11-12-2017, 11:24 PM by Reef
Male, 2.00
33 in, 127 lbs
0 ep
© Elle

Through the red rocks and into the cup of a frigid lake, he'd been travelling far on his own. He'd caught a rather stringy hair in the mountains nearer the lake and had found himself rejuvenated from the exhaustion he'd felt only a couple days prior whilst wandering the cliff sides. The time for survival felt incredibly irksome since he had thought he'd left the major struggle behind when Svana had saved him from certain death. Now, travelling with his half-sister, he felt the strain of rogue life upon his body once more. He was fit but not near as strong as he could be if he had the proper nutrition and the travels were beginning to wear on his body. Not to mention he had not met up with Gideon for quite some time, which left a sour taste in his mouth.

The russet man crossed over more of the mountain range to find himself on the wide expanse of a plateau. Flatter ground felt more balanced beneath his paws, more sturdy and less exhausting to try to cross over. From this altitude the air felt chillier, especially with such an open landscape in comparison to the red rock cliffs, which buffered him from the howling winds on those days when the air whipped around. He felt at ease up here, though once he came upon the golden fields of the plateau he sighed. Nothing could ever be easy in Doutaini. The grass was as high enough to tickle his belly and hinder any view of snakes or other creatures that might lurk in the grass. Good thing he was wolf and capable of excellent smell.

He moves with less caution that the cliffs or mountainous areas, those that create incident if not traversed carefully. Here there was no worry of plummeting to death at one misstep. Some scent wafts from the thick golden spires surrounding him and he sees a rather heavy indentation in the gold off to his left. He veers to the left; the scent is also wolf and he wonders why someone might wander this area. As any smart person would do he stops thirteen or so feet from the prone body, his head low between his shoulders as his lemon-lime eyes watch the general area that the body may or may not be. "Hello?" he calls through his somewhat raspy voice, though it is clarion and able to carry as he forces the word out. There was a weary nature to his stance, paws splayed lightly against the soil beneath the golden sea, limbs equal distances from one another, and his tail at a lazy neutral position. He remains attentive to the area in question and awaits a response before he would move any closer or any further from the other wolf.

It is then that his ears catch the sharp exclamation of the other wolf and his head lowers further yet, hackles flaring down his backside. Kurai? That must be some god. He ensures that his weight is equally spread on his limbs as they bend naturally at the ready, lemon-lime eyes narrowed somewhat in their sockets. "Your Kurai is not here, stranger."

Gods keep me safe.

Though his faith wanes, he sends a silent prayer anyhow. One could never be too cautious when approaching the unknown.


[ Reply ]

Posted 11-14-2017, 12:36 AM |
Enigma Healer
Female, 1.25
27in (a) in, 90lbs (a) lbs
© Xechi

“Kurai is always here," she makes her presence known with this cryptic statement. It was Aderchop that led her here, concern knitted on her pale brow. The girl looked every bit a "witch-in-training", her frame emaciated and coated in grime. Not filth, but the grime of work.
Soil coated her paws, and her black-speckled nape was dusted in the dying leaves of tall herbs. Her sleek coat (more like Mercury's than Ruellia's or Vaitan's) was a mess of oily tangles that reeked of jasmine and, beneath, all the other cavernous smells. Her fellow packmate's scent was what lured her this far from home. It contained everything it should, moss, still water, the tang of the bioluminescent worms; but there was something that did not belong. Sickness. A scent Aster knew all too well. Being one of Enigma's supposed "healers", she felt obligated to follow.

And here she was, frame held taut with nervousness some paces behind the ginger, unknown man. Her words were directed towards Reef, breath raspy from the long jog, but her next were for Aderchop, “But he may not always answer!" One who stared into the abyss didn't always
garner the abyss's attention, after all.

The girl stretches out her rather weak psyche, touching minds with Aderchop for only a moment before having to pull away, gasping for breath. She can feel his pain, feel the fever burning away at an already fragile (or rather, twisted, cracked,
broken) mind. It was the madness that made her the coils of her heart tighten in empathy, and, in a rare show of bravery and solidarity, the wraith-girl finds herself pushing forward. Past Reef, whom she sends only the faintest glance, until she is nearly atop of Ader's prone figure. She can't help but, at first, recoiling from the smell, and instinct almost pushes her away. ('I don't run away, death is in love with me and only he will decide when to take me away.') Aster floats above him, paws shuffling only a little in discomfort as she muses what her options were. She hadn't yet learned how to make those herb bags Tristan used,
and most useful herbs would either be dead or well away from here. In the end,
with her minuscule knowledge and means, Aster was useless. But... “If Papa were here, he could burn the sickness from you..." this is a soft musing spoken aloud, and the next thought comes tumbling out of her mouth just as well, “If you are unafraid, stranger,
take his other side?"
The young wench casts her voice towards Reef, along with a glance before turning back to the raving mad wolf.

“We will wait, I'll help you sweat the sickness out, and maybe, if you make it, Kurai will show himself. Maybe," her voice goes an octave lower, a whisper tainted in cryptic colors, “maybe he is already here." And with that, the emaciated girl would flop, unceremoniously, on the ground, her side aiming to press taught against his. Should he not move, she would then drape her long neck over his own, and her tail would wave; once again inviting Reef.


[ Reply ]

Posted Yesterday, 12:07 PM |
Enigma Wolf
Male, 4.00
39 in, 90 lbs
82 ep
© Sphinx
His entire head is so full of fat black spiders, clambering over his thoughts, mumbling under and upon his tongue, whispering into his eardrums, clogging all passages hollowed through his skull, that he cannot scent the stranger drawing near. Yet he hears his voice.

A simple called 'Hello?' is what comes first, hoarse with strain of mind and body. Aderchop does not hear this, as he is too focused upon his own crazed little nightmare world to notice. Yet when his howled request unto the heavens has ceased, he receives response from someone fairly distant in position.
'Your Kurai is not here, stranger.'
Shifting but a little where he lies, the serpent rolls from his back onto his left side, then painfully rolls again onto his back and then his right side. His ribs creak beneath him. He feels, beneath this clasping fever, as if his bones themselves are brittle, his mind seeping putty, dripping through the cracks and leaking through his teeth.

Breath wheezing quietly in his chest, he strains his eyes through the tall golden grass and spies a faint silhouette, chartreuse eyes just about visible glinting in the vague darkness.
Aderchop regards him in shivering silence for a moment, his skin crawling with sweat. Then, when he speaks, his voice is wavering and holds a hint of that usual strange curiosity which he possesses, yet considerably less pleasant to him and considerably more manic, though he is rather quiet now.

”Is he anywhere?” He flutters his eyes and rests his head hard against the ground, almost shoving it there, as if hoping to sink into the ground if the sky would not take him. ”I cannot see you, m'lord, are you of a pack?” Twisting painfully, he rolls onto his spine, and slowly and rhythmically thumps the back of his skull repeatedly against the earth, gentle yet done in such a way that aches ripple through his cranium. Saliva slips down from the corners of his lips. ”Don't patronise me,” he suddenly snaps, looking at the purple sky, and licks his teeth with a reptilian motion.

Another voice, a measly echo-y whistle unto the whipping wind. If his nose were not clogged, the snake king would have scented that familiar clinging odour of the caverns, and thus recognised one of his kin, though when she gingerly comes closer he does not recognise her. There is something of the Queen in her - the Queen, the Queen, she who came so close to death at my very hand! - though in the way her pelt is slick o'er her form she is quite similar to Mercury.
She gasps for reasons he does not know - though moments before she does, he feels some stinging touch around the edges of his brain. Something strums at that part of it which assists him with communicating through thought, yet through this sickness it burns like mild acid, and he winces, a cracked whine rising softly in his throat and quickly dying away.

Where he lies prone, Aderchop's lithe and lanky form looks like a greyscale spectre, a ghost from another dimension, lying distorted in the golden grasses of a place he never should have strayed to. His eyes, large and of faded emerald, are staring even beneath half-settled lids. White teeth glint under black lips peeled back as he looks upon the approaching pale wench, calm failing to settle even as he looks upon her purple gem.

When she comes to hover over him, she looks, whiteness dimmed beneath the brooding sky, like a sickly angel; eyes odd and blurred, features twisted in discomfort pushed aside in courage and in kindness. Sweetness.
'If Papa were here, he could burn the sickness from you...'
”That sounds delightful.” Voice hissing and gentle, off-kilter from illness, his sarcasm is black and he tries to smile at it; what occurs is a brief rictus, in which a corner of his mouth jerks upward and his eyes grow wide, mad. Then he deadpans, peering up at her, and coughs a little, squinting and turning his muzzle from her lest he spit.

Her warmth is scarce when she flops down beside him, and he cringes from it like a sick creature from water. ”Fair maid, prithee leave, lest my sickness creep into your pores.” He turns from her, endeavouring to pull his body from her touch and press his slender, pallid cheek into the ground, though his chest and stomach would remain upward-facing. A tinge of that odd gentlemanly etiquette creeps into his words, and he strains to keep it dominant over his maddened fibres which would shriek and laugh and snarl.
Spitting away a glob of cold spit and watching it land in the grass, he then quite contradicts his insistence of apparently ignoring his illness, asking in a cracked whisper, ”Have you knowledge of what sort of sickness this may be, my dear?” Affection is what he finds he feels, through the ache, towards this timid, breakable angel, this sullied girl. Mayhaps, had he been upright and healthy, he should have found such a thing anyway - or mayhaps sickness, where it twists him, makes him sweet in places, makes him fold. There is, in this moment for him, no deception. Nay, he cannot curl by that familiar breast of lies, and from it he cannot suckle. His base natures here shall thrive, shall crawl through the grass to gnaw at the ankles of those who come to him.
Have you seen my brain?

”speech” thought

notes: ugh this sucks sorryyy
tags: Reef Aster

Ever eating, never cloying,
All-devouring, all-destroying,
Never finding full repast,
Until I eat the world at last.

[ Reply ]